Out of Step
by Emertheawesome
Summary: What would you do to be redeemed?


A/N: My first SBHg fic. I want to thank ShadesofBlack for doing such an extroadinary beta job. Without her, these stories would be a grammar travesty.

Out of Step

_What would you do to be redeemed?_

XIII

Severus Snape would most likely, if he were alive, be disgusted by his burial. The ceremony was done with all the pomp, tears and speeches as Albus Dumbledore's. In addition, he was laid to rest right beside the old Headmaster's grave as a monument to his heroism and sacrifice.

Hermione could imagine her old Potions Professor's sneer at such turn-face worship, especially with Sirius Black attending his grave with a bouquet of wilted lilies in hand. She watched from a distance as the older, haggard man hung his head, whispering desperately to the marble stone and to himself. Perhaps pleading forgiveness or angry invectives, but Hermione was banking on the former.

Sirius had slowly fleshed out on his return, but he still held a gaunt, wiry appearance that was only matched by his initial appearance during his Azkaban escape. The youthful good looks had transformed into a lined, hollow-cheeked face with wary blues eyes. Dignified would best describe him now, though Hermione suspected his mischievous naughty streak still held sway underneath the ten-ton baggage he carried.

Perhaps after he fixed what he said he needed to fix would his back straighten and his shoulders thrust back. Whatever it was, it needed to be fixed.

Hermione sighed and slowly lowered herself onto the dewy grass, studying the way Sirius rubbed a hand through his scruffy hair and clutched the lilies. She would be here for quite some time, she was sure.

II

The first place she had searched was Heaven. She blamed herself for not taking into account that he wouldn't be there. After all, Sirius was Good, right? He was the Light, the Right, the True. Wayward youth cast aside - hadn't he done enough to make up for it?

But he wasn't there. She didn't bother to search for any other souls; for Dumbledore, the Potters, the Dead. She didn't want to know whether they deserved what seemed to pass as Heaven. Ignorance was bliss in this case and, besides, she had work to do. Next place: Purgatory.

VII

The first few days after his return he wouldn't allow anyone to touch him. He stayed inside Number 12 Grimmauld Place in his old bedroom with the curtains constantly drawn closed, even during the darkest of night.

Harry tried not to show his hurt, but Hermione could see it in his eyes as Sirius remained despondent to his sonly advances. A few times Hermione felt regret. Had she made a mistake? Had she ruined Harry's godfather's soul, perhaps torn or dissolved it in some blind, unchangeable way?

But finally he spoke, offering a twitching smile to Harry, Ron and her, and even clasping Harry's hand, though he pulled away rather quickly. Later he explained sensation was too much. Everything was too bright, too loud, too tactile. That Place hurt him so-

-but he recovered. Sirius recovered. To a certain extent.

IX

Hermione had breakfast prepared when Sirius appeared from his room for the second morning in a row. Bland eggs and under-toasted toast with watery tea to go with it. She maneuvered it all to the table where Sirius sat looking paranoid and helpless at the same time.

"Do you need help?" he finally asked, eyes watching her closely as she laid out places at the dining table.

"Just about finished," Hermione briskly replied. "Stay where you are."

The bustle cleared her mind of the tender panic that seemed to sink through her every time she thought of what to say to him. Before the veil; before his death; before his rebirth - they had always fought. She was logical, rule following girl brat, and he was the immature, reckless adult man. What could they possibly have in common?

But as she sat to enjoy the tasteless breakfast with him, a calm resonated through her. Why force talk when such a comfortable silence settled over the table? The subtle clank of silverware against porcelain, the whispering sips of tea.

"Thank you," he finally said, setting his fork down.

Hermione glanced at him from the cover of her mane of frizz. "You're welcome. It was no problem."

"Not just for breakfast. But for-" he waved a hand over his body "-for this."

Her throat closed up, because for something so monumental, did she really deserve thanks? If she brought him back, couldn't she have brought back so many others? Maybe she could adjust her calculations once more, then maybe she could broaden the gate that was the veil…

But there was no use feeling guilt. She felt it, but it was useless. Either way, she still didn't know how to respond. If it was possible to bring him back, then that was her duty. It was not a gift, but a responsibility. Surely Sirius understood that. Surely.

"I-" Hermione finally stuttered. "It was no problem either."

Sirius eyebrows shot up and a ghost of his old mocking grin slipped onto his lips. "Nothing, Hermione? As far as I know, you're the only person to bring someone back from the dead."

The old fallback of technical explanations fell into place like the click of an automatic latch. "Well," Hermione said, gaining confidence when speaking knowledge instead of personal, "it was only because of the way you-" _died "-_left that I was able to do that. The veil is a gateway, you know. I'm surprised more research was not done on it until now. There's little to no documentation on it, and as far as I can discern the Ministry was built _because _of it, because the veil is not manmade.

"Of course," Hermione added, taking a breath, "it is most likely that any information on it is deeply entrenched in wards, or perhaps even destroyed. I know they refused to divulge the records on your return." Hermione muttered. "Though that may have been because it, the veil, is not quite in my department."

Noticing that Sirius was watching her, chin resting on one hand, elbow propped on the table and an amused expression on his face, Hermione put a stop to her rambling. Harry and Ron would have long since mentally checked out of her lecture.

"Well, yes. That's about it," she trailed off pathetically.

"I see," Sirius replied. "So not simple at all. Did you possibly mention something about breaking rules?"

Hermione flushed. "No… though I may have tweaked a few."

His quiet chuckle was a surprise, but Hermione couldn't help but allow a sliver of a giggle to slip from her lips.

I

"Everything revolves around Time," Luna said, sipping her tea with all the serenity of newly fallen snow. It had been where Hermione's first idea, her first theories, had begun to take shape.

"Time," Hermione repeated.

"Yes, Time," Luna said dreamily. "Even the Gods follow Time. But we control it, don't we?"

Hermione thought back to her third year. "In a sense, yes."

They were on a break, sitting on the floor of the Time Room with a small tea set hovering between them.

"I wonder what Time is like in the Afterlife," Luna mused.

Hermione tensed, synapses rapid firing through her brain, thoughts processing and forming and completing. The clocks surrounding them ticked and bonged and groaned, a tittering whirl of gears and cogs.

"But there can't be Time in the Afterlife," Hermione said, feeling bubbles floating dangerously through her chest. "It wouldn't make sense. Death is supposed to be the final step. The End. How can Time measure that?"

"Time measures everything, I imagine," Luna murmured.

"But it's so subjective," Hermione muttered to herself. "So very subjective."

X

She spent just as much time with him as Harry did. One, because Harry was busy with his Auror training and though he wanted to spend every ounce of time with his godfather, couldn't actually skip something so important. Especially after Hermione had scolded him for doing just that. Two, she was suspended from work.

What she'd done was not technically illegal, but it definitely infringed on some very important rules, as well as getting a strong scowl from the Ministry. As far as the public was aware, Sirius had just come out of hiding after being exonerated of all crimes. Only a select few knew the truth, and they all were keeping their lips tightly sealed.

In her abundance of free time, Hermione mostly found herself in the Grimmauld library reading some odd assortment of texts with Sirius lounging beside her on the couch. Occasionally he would read, sometimes juggle, but for the most part he would stare pensively into space. If this went on too long Hermione would snap her book closed with a crack and stare at him expectantly.

"Done reading?" Sirius asked, glancing quickly over at her.

"Yes," Hermione replied, business-like. "We need to do something."

Sirius frowned at her, puzzled. "Do something? Like what?"

A deep disappointment reverberated through her, that the once exuberant Black could be so subdued. Long ago, she remembered him chomping at the bit that was his ancestral home. Now it was difficult to even get him to eat lunch with a group of people.

"We," Hermione mused thoughtfully, "should go out. Maybe to the park." It was overcast, but the weather was moderate enough for an outdoor venture.

Sirius seemed uninterested though. He shrugged. "I like it in here."

Hermione chewed her bottom lip for a moment before her stubborness kicked in. "No," she objected, "we're going to the park."

Sirius shot her startled glance. "Are we now?"

"Yes," Hermione replied decisively. "Get your jacket. I'm not letting you mope in here any longer."

He complied quietly, but Hermione thought she saw the hint of a smile on his face.

III

Hermione vomited as she came back to herself. The coldness of the room had seeped into her, gnawing at her bones and making her skin feel a nonexistent numb. Blood and half-digested scones decorated the floor in front of her.

A sense of failure pervaded her body, forcing her to shudder and wonder how she could do this one more time. If he hadn't been in Purgatory, then there was only one place left, and how could he possibly be there? She could hardly think about the horror that was the Middle Plain - the Waiting Grounds. If it was so awful, then how could she handle the last area? Maybe her calculations were off.

Hermione shakily gripped her wand, casting a quick _Scourgify _and climbing shakily to her feet. In a few weeks, she could try the last place. She would have to build up her strength and her courage. Especially her courage.

But for now she would walk back to the entryway, ignoring the whispers and seducing breeze. She would get a hot lunch to go and take it back to her flat, where she would eat it, take a bath, then cry herself to sleep.

The perfect plan in her opinion.

XI

He was shouting in his sleep.

Indiscernible words and screams, but she could hear it all the way from her bedroom two doors down the hallway. She didn't care about her flyaway hair or ragged pajamas as she dashed down the corridor, ripping through his door to desperately whisper his name in his ear.

"Sirius. Sirius, _Sirius!"_

His eyes snapped open. Even in the gloom she could see the gentle reflection of the gas lamps outside the window in his eyes.

"Sirius," Hermione murmured hesitantly, "are you awake?"

He blinked, repeatedly, before groaning and sitting up, rubbing his face with a trembling hand. Hermione moved to sit on the edge of the bed, resting a tentative hand on his bare back.

"Are-"

"I thought I was a good man," he interrupted in a hoarse whisper. "I though I was a good man."

Hermione remained silent, though she knew exactly what he spoke of. "You are."

"_Then why was I there?" _he exploded, face snapping up to glare at her. "Answer me, Hermione. If I'm such a good man, then why was I in fucking _Hell?"_

She had no answer. There were no calculations or research she could do. All she knew, from her heart, was that he didn't deserve to be there. Fates were cruel.

She ran her hand up and down his back comfortingly as his harsh breathing slowed. Finally he calmed, but then another tenseness overcame him, as though something else struck him.

"Better…?" Hermione asked quietly. She wasn't prepared for his arm to flash out and awkwardly tumble her onto his lap. "What-?" The rough brush of his hand against her cheek silenced her.

"I promise, just this little thing," he muttered, before dropping his lips to hers. It was demanding and taking and controlling all at once. It was a desperate kiss, one made to feel something, to be felt. This was no lover's kiss, but a dying man's kiss right before life fled from his veins.

He released her lips while she stared up at him blankly, at a complete loss of what to do or think. Gently, he pushed her towards the edge of the bed.

"Go to bed," he murmured tiredly, all the rage and pain seeming to have leaked from him like a wave.

Hermione hesitated for a moment, but shock made her compliant and she stood, softly padding from the room.

VI

Veritaserum and butterbeer combined created an odd taste, Hermione thought abstractly.

The Minister's office was decorated to put a visitor at ease. It worked, surprisingly enough, though maybe that was still the adrenaline high of success rushing through her veins.

Shacklebolt had been pacing angrily for only five minutes, occasionally thumbing the crease at the bridge of his nose. Arthur Weasley sat to the side, a nervously puzzled expression on his freckled features.

When Kingsley finally spoke his voice was controlled - very controlled. "Did you intend to bring Sirius Black to life?"

"Yes," Hermione answered, monotonically. Everything was bit fuzzy and compliance seemed very, very nice.

"Did you use Ministry resources to accomplish this?"

"Yes."

He paused. "Did you inform anyone of your plans?"

"No."

"Are you aware that you are the only known person to have brought a person back to full life?"

Hermione frowned. "On record, yes."

"This will not be on record," Kingsley replied. Hermione vaguely noticed Arthur's already pale visage had whitened even further.

"Are you saying, Kingsley-?"

"-That Miss Granger has brought a person seven years dead back to life? Yes."

Arthur shook his head, muttering, "Incredible," beneath his breath, then looking at her as though discovering his old dog was actually a Green Welsh in disguise.

A parchment and quill floated to her from across the room. "I want you to write your research down," Kingsley demanded. "All of it."

Hermione nodded mechanically, reaching for the quill with shaky fingers.

"Just so you know," the Minister continued, "he's in the hospital being diagnosed for any Dark Magic or diseases. He appears to be in a semi-right mind, but only time will tell."

Hermione offered a watery smile and then began to write.

XII

Sirius was writing furiously on a scrap piece of parchment when she approached the dining table. She hovered for a moment before shuffling to the kitchen to make some pungent tea. Upon returning she found him tapping the pointy end of his quill against the paper while staring intensely at it.

The clatter of the tea tray startled him out of his reverie. His eyes were closed and guarded as he looked at her.

"Tea," Hermione said in explanation, pouring him a cup and sliding it over to him. She sat down beside him, but not too close. A lingering, tense awkwardness seemed to hover over them like thick smog.

"What are you working on?" Hermione finally asked, her words slicing through the silence like a machete.

He glanced down at the parchment that his long fingers covered. "A list," he grumbled softly.

"Of what?"

Sirius once again peered at her, as though coming to some personal conclusion. "Things I need to do."

He didn't elaborate whether this was a simple grocery list or some kind of redemption, but Hermione suspected the latter. She watched the foggy curls of steam drifting lazily from her tea. With a flicker of her fingers she formed shapes; a yawning cat, a gamboling dog, a tree.

"Neat trick," Sirius commented lightly.

Hermione shrugged. "What's first?"

"What?"

"On the list," she continued. "On the list, what's first?"

"Ah," Sirius imitated her earlier shrug. "I'll tell you after I complete it, yeah?"

Hermione stared at Sirius, then snorted with a smile. "I'll hold you to that."

He shot her a faux offended look. "You insult me, Hermione."

Hermione laughed, and the awkwardness dissipated like morning frost on a summer day.

VIII

"Hermione."

Hermione glanced up to see Harry watching her from the Grimmauld library entrance.

"Harry," she smiled in greeting.

Slowly he strode across the room, gently prying the book from her hands and setting it onto the cushion beside her. He grabbed her hands and pulled her up.

"Harry, what-"

He tugged her into a fierce hug, burying his nose into her wild hair.

"Thank you," he whispered. _"Thank you."_

XIV

Hermione was waiting for him as he returned. She peeked around the edge of the sitting room into the entryway, watching him as he shed his cloak and dress shoes, tossing them haphazardly by the coat rack. He looked up and caught her looking at him. An amused smile filtered over his sharp features.

Hermione quickly padded out.

"How did it go?" she questioned breathlessly. "Did you have fun? Was it interesting? Do you get along with everybody?"

Sirius lifted a quelling hand. "Calm down, love. Take a breath."

Hermione frowned in consternation but sealed her lips. Sirius reached and teasingly tugged at a wayward curl. "How about some tea," he commented. "I'll tell you all about it."

Hermione nodded, turning quickly to rummage up some tea and biscuits. It was Sirius' first day of his new job, after all, and she wanted to hear all about it. Surely Harry would want to know as well, but he was at work so he was out of luck.

Sirius was lounging in the parlor when she returned, long legs stretched before him in a pose of extreme relaxation. It reminded her sharply of his casual arrogance of before, and, surprisingly, it filled her with warmth.

Hermione placed the tray on a small table, then perched expectantly on the edge of the couch. Sirius laughed at her expression.

"You are obviously not handling my absence well."

Hermione flushed. "I'm doing just fine with out you," she blustered, "but that doesn't mean I don't worry!"

Sirius rolled his eyes. "It was mostly just training. I got along well with the few people I met, and I've decided you're going to write my reports for me."

Hermione snorted. "I certainly will not."

"You'll leave a poor old man to write boring MLE essays by himself?"

"Yes."

"Harsh."

Hermione sniffed. "I suppose I can check your grammar once it's finished."

Sirius laughed, hooking an arm to lie casually on the back of the couch.

"But," Hermione murmured, "you are happy with it, right?"

The last Black smiled. "I will be. I'm doing something now, yeah? It's a start."

Hermione nodded with a satisfied smile. They chatted some more, slowly demolishing the tea and biscuits until the hour grew late. It was Sirius who first stood with an exaggerated yawn and stretch.

"Time for bed," he sighed.

Hermione stood to collect the chinaware. "Goodnight, Sirius. Sleep well."

He looked at her oddly before taking a step to her and hunching over to place a gentle kiss on the space between cheek and mouth, barely brushing the edge of her lips. "Good night, Hermione."

Hermione felt warmth flood her system, rushing through her veins and lighting up her cheeks and neck. Suddenly she seemed hyperaware of everything that was Sirius; his husky voice, sandalwood scent, the way his hair casually brushed the tips of his shoulders and how his height almost dwarfed her.

"Uh," Hermione said eloquently. Sirius smiled wryly, then strode from the room.

It took her five minutes of hand scrubbing the same tea cup and staring at the wall before righteous indignation flared. She tossed the cup into the cooling suds and stormed her way up to Sirius bedroom.

He was shirtless and shocked, sitting on the edge of his bed as she slammed the door open.

"Hermio-?"

"What are you doing?" Hermione demanded.

Sirius appeared puzzled. "Getting ready for bed…?"

"No," Hermione spat, "I mean_ what are you doing?" _She waved at him, then herself. "What is going on with… _this?"_

"I'm… not quite sure I understand."

Hermione felt the frustration leak out of her to leave a painfully acute embarrassment. "Why do you keep kissing me?" she finally whispered. "Why do you keep doing that?"

Comprehension flitted through his eyes. He stood hesitantly. "Hermione…" he trailed.

"I just want to understand," Hermione murmured brokenly.

Sirius padded over to her, reaching out, hovering, but not touching. "I've been weak," he replied softly. "Very weak."

Hermione tucked her chin into her chest, studying his feet and not understanding.

"Look at me, Hermione. Look at me." He pressed one finger to her chin and softly slid her face look at him, though she kept her gaze averted.

"I am not a good man," he muttered. "I've been weak, being around you. You are young and light and ingenious."

"I'm not-" Hermione feebly protested.

"No, let me speak." Sirius sighed. "I was not in Heaven or Purgatory. I was in Hell. My soul is dirty. My past is nothing. I'm jaded and irresponsible, and you are the exact opposite. I've taken advantage of you enough."

Finally Hermione glared at him. "You're completely wrong," she said. "I know you're not bad, and you're not really old either."

Sirius snorted at the 'really' part.

Hermione frowned sternly. "And I don't think you were there because you were bad. I think… maybe it was payment for a second chance. Maybe you had to give to get. This was your second chance at redemption, and I imagine that's not free."

"You will regret this," Sirius said.

"I won't," Hermione argued, then she stood on her tiptoes to press a chaste kiss to his lips. He remained frozen for only a second before grabbing her hips and pressing her to him, deepening the kiss to a languid meeting of the lips, a curling dance of tongues and teeth and breath.

They pulled away, flushed and disheveled. "You are a vixen," he accused.

"Am not," Hermione protested.

Sirius quirked an eyebrow, then leaned down once more.

IV

This was her last chance.

The veil whispered innocently, sending chills down her spine. The tiny clock was positioned in front of her, gleaming in the cold grey of the room. Time, Luna had said. Everything revolved around Time. If there was anything Hermione was well versed in, it was Time.

But if this didn't work, then there was nothing left. Every cell in her body cringed at the thought, but through sheer gumption she reached for the clock.

Seconds.

Afterlife was a mere pausing of time, yes? If she stopped time, if she became timeless, then she could reach him. Her soul could traverse worlds, dimensions and lands. But there was only one more place.

She grabbed the smallest hand, moving so fast because it was a near indiscernible measurement of Time.

She took a deep breath. And she halted the hand. Time.

Stop.

O

_Found you. You coming?_

_Will you be there?_

_Yes. _

_Alright. _

_Good. _


End file.
